


In Which Ryan and Shane are Actual Killers

by WoozleBucket



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Radio, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, because i'm cc tinsley, i know what sports are, ryan explain these sports to me, what are sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 02:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoozleBucket/pseuds/WoozleBucket
Summary: A weird mixture of a serial killer au and the radio show au I keep floating around, enjoy Ryan Bergara dealing with the one, the only... C.C. Tinsley. He's a detective, you know.





	In Which Ryan and Shane are Actual Killers

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of dialogue. I apologize for all the dialogue. I like dialogue. Why is dialogue.

“Hello, I’m a detective,” the man says. Ryan slams the door in his face, stands there for a moment, and, against his better judgement, opens the door again slowly. The man is still grinning. It’s weird. He should stop.

“Why?” Ryan asks.

“Because I tried killing people and that didn’t work,” the man says. He peeks over Ryan’s shoulder, not that it would be hard for him. Fucker’s at least two inches taller than him. At least, because anything more would make Ryan a lesser man. “Can I come in?”

Ryan says, “No.” Then he slams the door shut and goes back to the game. A moment later, he hears the knocking again and turns up the volume. The crowd goes wild as Ryan’s window shatters, sending him screaming to the floor.

“Can I come in now?” he can hear the man call.

“Fuck off, man!” Ryan calls back. He slowly sits up and peeks over the back of the couch. Yep, it’s fucked.

“Your window just exploded!”

“Yes! Go away!”

The man knocks again and, against his better judgement, Ryan gets up and opens the door. The man isn’t grinning anymore, thank God, but he also has a cartoony magnifying glass held up to his eye.

“I’m Tinsley,” he says, stepping inside and leaning in close to Ryan’s face, looking him over. It’s weird. He should really stop. “C.C. Tinsley. I’m a detective.”

“I figured,” Ryan says. The game is still going on. He could easily just take care of this, easily let the detective investigate his way into the kitchen, and then Ryan could easily get this all over with before halftime.

“Oh!” Tinsley exclaims, jerking back suddenly, looking positively overjoyed at something. “You’re a detective, too?”

“Ah,” Ryan says. “no. You already said that you’re a detective.”

Tinsley’s face falls. “Oh,” he says. Different voice, lower. Then he brightens back up, smiles again. Fuck. “I knew that! Because I’m C.C. Tinsley, and I’m a detective!”

The voice is all weird and high-pitched again, and the smile is still there as Tinsley turns to face the shattered window.

“I deduce that this window was shattered from the outside by an outside force,” Tinsley announces after approximately no time looking at the glass. “I’m C.C. Tinsley.”

Ryan sighs. He has a knife around here somewhere, probably by the coat rack. Maybe in the coat rack. It’s been a long day.

“What does the ‘C.C.’ stand for?” he asks. He turns to the coat rack and, sure enough, he can see a knife poking out of one of his jackets.

“Uh,” says Tinsley, deep voice again. Then back to the higher one with, “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. You can trust me, I’m C.C. Tinsley.”

Ryan pulls out the knife and spins and there’s Tinsley with an actual axe aimed right at where his back would be.

“Oh, fuck,” Tinsley says. Ryan can relate.

-

Two days ago, Ryan was happily cutting a man to pieces in the back of the man’s own flatbed. Now he’s staring down the handle of an actual, literal axe being held by a man who repeats his own name after every sentence.

“I am not dying to a butter knife,” Tinsley says. Deep voice again, probably back for good. Hopefully back for good.

Ryan is relatively certain that he is not, in fact, holding a butter knife. He’s relatively certain that this is a bigger knife that can easily slit someone’s throat before they can swing their stupid axe.

“You stole that,” Ryan says, nodding at the axe. “Axeman of New Orleans.”

“I am the Axeman,” Tinsley says, very seriously. He nods, smiles a little, drops the smile, and then it’s back. It’s weird. He should stop.

“And I’m the Zodiac Killer,” Ryan says. He could do it. He could do it right now. Tinsley’s laughing now, a light giggle. It’s weird. This is all weird. Fuck.

“Too short,” Tinsley says. “I’m Shane.”

Ryan blinks. “What?”

Tinsley rolls his eyes and swings his axe towards the floor, leaning lightly on the handle. It’s a stretch. This guy’s at least forty feet taller than his stupid axe. “Shane. I’m Shane.”

“Why?”

“Because C.C. Tinsley is the name of a dead man,” Tinsley says. Or Shane says. Ryan doesn’t care at this point. Tinsley/Shane tilts his head a little. “A really cool dead man. Had a nice coat.”

Ryan looks at the coat. “That’s a pretty nice coat.”

“He thought so,” Tinsley/Shane muses. He blinks and looks down at Ryan’s knife. “So…”

Against his better judgement, Ryan lowers his knife and relaxes slightly. Tinsley/Shane nods.

“I’m Ryan,” Ryan says. And then he mentally kicks himself.

“I know,” Tinsley/Shane nods, again very seriously. “I listen to your show.”

“Nobody listens to my show.”

“Lots of people listen to your show.”

So Ryan has a show at the local radio station, Fridays towards the end of the recording day. He talks about weird shit that nobody cares about, and so nobody listens. Except for this guy. Apparently. Weirdo.

He looks back down at the axe, whose handle is bending dangerously. If it snaps and the bender falls, Ryan will laugh. That’s a definite. What isn’t a definite is Tinsley/Shane’s sudden smile. Again. Weird, stop.

“You talked about yourself in your own show!” he says. He sounds positively delighted.

“I have a big ego,” Ryan shrugs. That isn’t a lie.

“I’ll say!” Shane (definitely Shane. Tinsley is the radio announcer on crack.) grins. It’s sharp, like Ryan’s knife. “Probably bigger than you!”

Ryan is not having this. “Did you blow up my window?” he demands. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about his height with a serial killer.

Shane pouts. “And we were just starting to get along!”

Ryan raises his knife again and, with a sigh, Shane swings his axe back up and over his shoulder. The whistle blows, it’s halftime, and Ryan ducks as an axe swings towards his neck.

-

People listen to Ryan’s show. A lot of people listen to Ryan’s show, as it turns out. But that might be Shane’s fault.

“The people love me!” Shane grins. The woman squirms underneath him, claws at his arms, eyes wide open and full of fear. Ryan doesn’t like the muffled screaming. It’s very unsettling.

Ryan rolls his eyes and holds his knife up to the light. Not that it does much because of course Shane would pick the one cabin with no electrical wiring in it. Shane’s phone is balancing precariously between two crumbling boards. They might have to find somewhere else to do this next time.

“Just keep telling yourself that,” he says. As he turns back to the woman, he catches Shane making a face at him. Ryan smiles despite himself, Shane smiles back, and the woman’s screams are cut off as Ryan tears his knife across her throat.

**Author's Note:**

> Buzzfeed Unsolved Tumblr: @consumetheorbs
> 
> "Main" Tumblr: @ohnomypeas


End file.
